What Peace Brings
by Yumeshojo
Summary: Emelia and her companion are plagued by the repercussions of defying a Daedra, and it's put a hitch in what could be their romance. Can they find peace and, hopefully, what could come after? Female!DragonbornXErandur. Oneshot.


**Another oneshot (because I was in an Elder Scrolls oneshot mood). This time, one of my favorite followers: Erandur! This starting out as a drama sort of, and then turned into fluff I think...Oh well, I still love it :) Anyway, takes place after Vaermina's Daedric quest where Emelia (obviously) didn't kill Erandur. I always thought it was weird that after that quest Vaermina was all like "well, okay then, be on your way, I won't try to get revenge or anything." So, this story was sprung on the idea that Vaermina would not let this go so easily (and that Erandur should have been marriageable). **

* * *

While they both suffer from the nightmares, neither has mentioned it. They pretend everything's normal, go about their days as though they aren't exhausted, that their nights aren't spent in the thralls of Vaermina's revenge. The Daedra is toying with them, torturing them, and Erandur will speak nothing of it, she knows, because his past still haunts him, because he believes this is his penance. And Emelia doesn't mention her own suffering because she knows his is much, much worse. The knowledge would only be a further burden on him, and his soul is burdened enough.

It's another sleepless night, and as Emelia sits, fighting the fatigue that weighs her body down and slumps her shoulders as though in defeat, she watches the sky. She watches the sky so that she doesn't watch him, as she's done too often at times, but instead of watching him she's thinking of him, which probably isn't much better. At least he won't catch her like this, but she still sighs, staring determinedly at the stars.

The dark sky is beautiful over the expanse of crystal white snow. They had been traveling together for some time and, though she wouldn't admit it to him, with no real purpose in mind. He'd offered his companionship and she'd accepted it. She didn't need a companion, though she missed company often on her lonely journeys, and she'd gone through more than one traveling partner; it was because she couldn't leave him there alone in that place, where the dead bodies of his betrayed friends lay just beyond a door, with only a cold alter to his goddess to keep him company. His story, his quest for redemption, his sad eyes and solemn voice, they broke her heart.

And she had the uncomfortable feeling that it would be broken all over again someday. In trying to pull one man tied down by demons from his darkness, she had gotten so much more than she'd bargained for. In their time together, she'd felt it growing, more and more, these feelings of protectiveness towards him, compassion and even, at times, annoyance. She wanted him to heal, to move on, to accept himself and love himself and maybe someday love her.

So far, loving him had only caused her more pain. If it wasn't Vaermina's nightmares, it was his own self-induced punishments, his denial of his own happiness and his indentured servitude to the goddess of, ironically, love. By Mara, she hadn't meant to fall in love with him. It was frustrating and infuriating and a fine line to walk, being so emotionally invested in someone who trusted her so much, who looked at her with those tired eyes and barely noticed her flirtings.

Behind her, curled up on his mat and tucked under the warmth of furs, he stirs. She tenses, knowing what little bit of peace he'd had till now has ended. His breathing becomes labored, groans fill the air, and she cringes away in shared agony as his first cries begin.

She has to think of something else, has to distract herself, block him out. She has to keep on pretending she hears nothing, that she doesn't know. But even if she wasn't plagued by nightmares of her own, she still wouldn't sleep at night, not with this. Her heart aches for him, burns her eyes and clenches her throat, digs her nails into her palms and gnaws her lip till it bleeds. If she tries to open her mouth, she'll choke. She growls instead, trying to be frustrated instead of helpless.

Slowly, she brings her shaking fingers to her gear and hunts out her blade and whet stone. After dropping it several times to the sound of the Dunmer's pain, she finally is able to hold it steady and run the stone down the length. The deliberate, lengthy motions dull her mind, pulling it away, setting her into a monotonous rhythm that requires all her attention to keep from slipping and cutting herself. The sound of it is searing, and she pretends his cries are only the sound of the metal beneath stone.

The process can only last so long, however, and soon enough she's sharpened all her weapons and his own, as well. Still, he sleeps, caught in the nightmares, and she grows worried. He's never been trapped this long, not without waking up and spending his own lonely hours trying to stave off slumber before being recaptured by the curse. She's lain there almost every night, pretending to sleep, knowing he was doing his best not to wake her despite his turmoil. This feels wrong.

She gives up her fight and settles down at his bed side. He's on his back, arched up against some invisible force, his eyes tight closed and his face gnarled under the strain of heaving fits. Sweat drenches him, and his hood has slid back behind his neck, pulling, almost forming a noose. The idea scares her, and she moves to take it off him. He looks smaller without it, thinner and frailer, his robes loose from his struggles and draping his skeletal frame.

She takes a moment, a guilty look, to admire his bare collarbone, the line and shape of his neck and shoulder that the falling fabric has revealed. Then she's chastising herself, a roll of her eyes and a click of her teeth, and reaching out to grab that shoulder with purpose. She shakes him, just a bit.

"Erandur?"

He makes no response, not to her touch or her call. She bites her lip, then tries again.

"Erandur?"

He cries out, voice rasping in breathless suffering, but it isn't because of her efforts. It's like he's so deep in the thralls, he's out of her reach, and the idea is scaring her. She shakes him more roughly this time, panic threatening. She's being ridiculous, she knows. He's always awoken before, he will now, but she'll just feel better once he opens his eyes so she allows her fear to guide her. She calls his name again. And again.

It's not working. Frantic, she searches around, then comes back with a small bucket of water from a nearby stream. It's freezing, and she feels bad doing this, so she tries her best not to soak him. She trickles the liquid over his face, his eyes, and it runs down his cheeks, mingled with the sweat and dirt and facial hair. Her hands shake as the water splashes on her fingers, but her companion gives no sign the cold has penetrated his terrors.

Desperate, she starts trying healing spells and potions, but she's no mage or alchemist, and none of them make any difference. She gives his face a good slap, and is rewarded with further guilt and his continued thrashings, nothing else.

"Oh, come on!" She cries, feeling helpless and useless and terrified that he'll never open his eyes. Trapped forever in Vaermina's realm, dead to all but the nightmares. "Wake up! Please, Erandur, wake up!"

She recalls that Erandur isn't his real name and wonders if maybe his subconscious doesn't recognize it, still goes by his birth name. Grasping at straws, she tries it. "Casimir?"

His body seizes, as though trying to hold itself, and she knows he heard. He gasps again, and she leans over his chest, calling out. "Casimir! Casimir, wake up! I need you to wake up! Come on, please, Erandur, Casimir, whoever you are, just come back!"

His arm jerks towards her, grasping her hand tightly, holding it to him like a lifeline. His chest is heaving, but he rolls, curling up around her, and she has hope again, pounding in her ribcage. "Casimir! Fight the nightmares! Curse you, Vaermina, release him! Open your eyes, Casimir!"

With a final convulsion, the tension releases, leaving him in a heap around her body. His eyes are open, fluttering beneath his soggy locks, so she immediately moves her fingers into his hair, pushing it back and out of his face. He's still struggling for air, hand limp on her lap, eyes clouded with lingering fear. She keeps up the soothing rhythm across his forehead, relief flooding her with all her tenderest feelings, feelings she's not used to.

It takes several minutes, but he eventually calms, and moves to sit up. Her hand slips away, and she mourns the loss of contact with him instantly. He looks to her, eyes finally free of fear but still lost in pain and grief. "I'm sorry."

She shakes her head, dismissing the words, having known him long enough to realize he thought his very existence merited apology. Instead, she fixes him with her worried gaze. "Are you alright?"

He nods, and she places her hand on his. There's unbelief in her eyes, but also understanding. "You wouldn't wake up. No matter what I did, you just..."

"I fear Vaermina's curse grows stronger, and so does her hold upon my sleeping consciousness. She can no longer feed off our memories, but the world of dreams is still her domain, and we are at her mercy there. Falling prey to brutality that the mind believes is real is just as dangerous as true torture."

She moves her hand up again, brushing his hair away, and settles it there against his cheek. She's lost in his red eyes, that haze of sadness that seems to symbolize his entirety. Slowly, she asks again, searching that gaze. "Are you alright?"

He's watching her in return, face much older than she knows him to be, careful with his words. "I'm alright. Thank you, Emelia."

Nodding, she lets her hand drop. And suddenly she notices his robe again; skewed, revealing lengths of blue-gray skin down his legs, open at his chest. She takes a moment to reward herself and stares, admiring.

"You called me Casimir."

"What?" His words barely register, her mind is so intent upon his body. The physical is something she's more comfortable with, more used to.

"I could hear your voice, in my dreams," he continued, unaware of her distraction. "You called me Casimir."

"Right," she nods, smiles, tries to bring herself back to the moment. "You weren't answering to Erandur. Casimir seemed to work, though. I figured, subconsciously, you probably still answered to your birth name."

Now would be a bad time to mention her feelings, she thought, even though she'd been dying to for weeks. She was terrible at this, timing and such. She was used to saying what she wanted, acting on it. None of those relationships had lasted, though, and she wanted this one to. Erandur, however, had proven oblivious to most of her expressions of interest, and she was beginning to think this would take something more blunt.

"I like it," she adds thoughtfully. "I know you're trying to start over, redefine yourself, all that. But I like your name."

"It was...strange...to hear it again, and from someone who's never called me by it before. I suppose you are the bridge between my old and new lives, the only one left that knows both Erandur and Casimir." He says this as though it isn't a good thing.

"It makes me feel special," she perks up, raising her hands to straighten his open robes, even though she just wants to stare at him more, even touch. "Like I'm the only one who knows all of you. The past, the present – and I'll be around to see the future. The lessons you'll learned, how you'll grow and change. No matter who you are, I get to know you."

"And you accept them all."

"Of course."

"It doesn't bother you to travel around with a former Daedra worshiper, a coward who abandoned his friends?"

She grins. "Doesn't it bother you to travel around with an escaped war criminal, a rebel soldier who helped overthrow an empire?"

"Daedra worship and betrayal are hardly comparable to fighting for a noble cause such as one's freedom."

"You're right. A lot more people died on my account."

He can't argue with it, and she knows it. Her smile is smug despite their somber topic and he knows it hurts her. "I'm sorry."

"Stop it." She sticks her tongue out playfully, then moves to stand, picking up his hood and handing it to him just for something to do. He pulls it on, and she decides she rather likes it. His face, framed in the fabric, is a familiar sight, comfortable. "Well, I don't think either one of us is gonna get any more sleep tonight. Shall we head out?"

"If that is what you wish."

Emelia rolls her eyes and slaps him on the shoulder, where it lingers momentarily before sliding off as she moves forward. "Come on, then. Our destination is south-east!"

"And where exactly, might I ask, is our destination?"

They are both gathering up their things as they speak, and she takes a second to pause, watching him. "Does it matter?"

"I suppose it doesn't."

Because he'll follow her anywhere.

* * *

It has been another few sleepless nights, and both their tempers fluctuate with the winds. Silence has kept the peace in their company, and Emelia knows weariness is bearing down on them both, crushing their spirits. She wonders how much longer either of them can take this. She worries their relationship may not survive it, even if they do.

The trees have grown more colorful with the trek south, the scenery a painting of reds, yellows, browns, and gold-orange, a rain of the gilded leaves pouring down around them. The weather is warmer, the air drier, and the ground beneath crunches, not from the crushing of snow-powder, but from the mixture of dirt, stone, and flora. The change in the land around them, if nothing else, gives rise to renewed feelings of hope, and Emelia feels a smile creep back into place as they near the destination she's been keeping from her companion.

"Riften."

His voice is gruff, curious, and pleased, she can tell. The hold is in sight, and she feels excitement growing as they approach. She turns around, continuing with her back pointed towards the city, and grins as she walks. "Riften."

His eyes are brighter than she's ever seen them, filled with awe and hope and affection, all of which he tries to hide. He knows what's here, he doesn't know that's exactly why she's come. "I hear it's a bad place. Do you have business there?"

"Some friends of mine I haven't visited in a while. Nothing sketchy, if that's what you're thinking."

He nods, unable to pry his eyes from the city walls. She laughs, whirls around, and there's a bit of a skip in her step as they make their way around to the front gates.

Inside, she's instantly aware that, war ended or not, Riften hasn't changed at all. Shady deals seem to be going down in every corner, low-lives fill the streets, and guards seem to be lost as to how to do their jobs. Shaking her head, Emelia takes Erandur's hand and pulls him along, keeping to the edge of the city, circling around the ring with purpose. She takes him strait up the steps and through the door without giving him a chance to gather his bearings, and once they're inside and she finally stands still, he freezes in dawning wonder. He seems overcome by it, struck through the heart at the sight of his Lady's statue, unable to look away. Emelia finds herself struck similarly, her eyes locked on his enraptured face.

"The Temple of Mara..." he almost gasps, a breathless whisper escaping him. He's still bowed from being half-dragged inside, but he rises now, slowly, taking everything in, from the rows of pews to the simple wood walls and floors, he's caught up in experiencing this holy place.

She's tickled with herself, heart thundering in her chest as she watches his amazement. She had been hoping to cheer him with this, to surprise him and please him, lift his spirits after their torturous nights and tiring days. This is so much more than that. Just watching him, she feels like she's falling in love all over again.

"Emelia!" Dinya has spotted them at the door, and the Dunmer priestess comes to great them, a smile and a warm clasping of hands for her friend. "It's so good to see you. It's been some time."

"Yes, it has," she replies, doing her best to keep her eyes off her companion by glancing around fondly at their surroundings. "How's the business been, hm? Any more missions from Our Lady I could help with?"

Erandur finally looks to her again, his bliss mingling with surprise to know she's so familiar with this place, these people, their work. She holds down a giggle, pleased.

"Not at the moment. Though we've had a few weddings in the past months, which has been wonderful. Lady Mara's influence is as alive as ever."

"Don't I know it," Emelia smiles softly, then blinks the tenderness away and pulls Erandur into the conversation. "Dinya, this is Erandur. He's my traveling buddy, keeps me company and makes sure I don't rush into something I can't handle. _And_ he's a priest of Mara."

"Really?" Dinya smiles her elegant smile, delighted at the news. "Wonderful to meet you, Brother. Welcome to the Temple of Mara."

"Thank you, Sister. I've always wished to make the pilgrimage here...it's an honor, truly." His gaze drifts back to Emelia, and the look in his eyes has her beaming before he finishes his words. "I cannot express how happy this has made me, Emelia. Thank you."

She's elated, glowing inside, and she knows if she doesn't do something quick, she'll embarrass herself; she wants to kiss him. Instead, she waves him off and makes her way down the isle to the alter, where she kneels and motions for Erandur to join her. "Come pray with me."

He nods to Dinya to excuse himself and settles in beside her. Together, they bow their heads, and in silence, send their petitions up to their goddess.

Emelia doesn't know what Erandur prays about, but her thoughts are centered on him. She wishes Mara's blessing upon him, her strength, her healing, her protection. She wishes his guilt alleviated, his heart lightened, a world of happiness in his life.

She wishes he'll love her. It's the only wish she makes for herself.

When her prayer is done, she places her hand on the alter, heart heavy with her thoughts. She wants her own relief from Vaermina's retaliation, yes, but she cares about him more; most.

She's prayed for him before, she'll continue to do so even after things are set right. But in this prayer, just in case, she called him Casimir.

* * *

They settle into Honeyside for the night, thankful for a soft bed to share and a roof over their heads. Neither is eager for the usual attempt at rest, however, and much time is wasted to put off the task. Dinner is Horker Stew, thick and meaty and Emelia's favorite, as Erandur will eat anything and be grateful, to her annoyance. They stay up with books they've already read, practicing small spells on each other, discussing their next adventure, avoiding the large double bed that calls to their exhausted minds. Eventually, however, the dark of night gets to them and they migrate quietly under the thick covers, backs pressed together in comforting camaraderie.

They wake up rolled over, Emelia tucked tightly into Erandur's arms. This situation would probably illicit apologies from him and flirtatious jokes from her normally, but they only stare quietly at each other, slow smiles conveying a shared message; it's been a good night, the first in a long time. No tossing and turning, no waking and struggling back to sleep, no cold sweats and hot muscles, no nightmares. No Vaermina.

Emelia snuggles herself back in closer, resting her head against his chest, feeling the pulse of his blood and beat of his heart and steady breathing. His arm drapes over her, not holding, but not letting go. They stay like that for hours more, sleeping the day away. Noon passes and the two companions are still together, catching up on weeks of missed sleep, slumbering silently, soothingly.

Dark has rolled around again by the time both their eyes are open, but neither stirs. Emelia would sooner fight a camp of giants than leave her piece of Sovengarde here in Erandur's arms. He is as careful as ever; the slight twitch in his hand took over half an hour to turn into the slow stroking of his fingers in her hair.

She is the first to break the silence, not because she needs to or is uncomfortable or has something important to say. She only desires to improve upon perfection (just slightly) by adding his voice in the air, the deep, gravelly tones and thick accent, and the feel of his throat thrumming with his words. She doesn't even know what she said, but soon enough they are conversing in the quiet of evening Riften, low and slow and with no purpose, just talking about whatever comes to mind, whatever keeps them going.

The moons are high in the sky by the time she finally gets his favorite food out of him, and, with both eagerness and reluctance, raises up out of the bed and goes to fix it. They eat their midnight breakfast together with more smiles and soft words, barely able to keep the joy and relief off their faces, barely able to keep their eyes off one another. They have suffered together, now triumphed together, and each holds that their salvation was the other, and Mara.

They spend the night along the water, watching the stars flickering across the dark surface as Masser makes it's journey across the sky. They are at peace, like they haven't been in weeks, and they continue long into the morning perched there, feet hanging off the wooden walkway, talking and laughing and praising their goddess. They wander the marketplace at noon, Emelia buying pretty things she doesn't need and anything Erandur shows even the slightest interest in, no matter how he protests. They have lunch at the Bee and Barb, spend the afternoon with Maramal preaching in the streets, smiles on all their faces, enjoy another homemade meal together as the sun sinks away, and then seek out the reassurance of each other's bodies as they slip into bed and wait to see if the night before was a fluke, if they are truly free.

He's still asleep when she opens her eyes, and she simply buries her head back in his chest, unwilling to wake him. She smiles to herself at the irony that, after all the nights they they've slept together, in the same place, without sleeping together, lying awake in the dark, and never _slept_ together, they've finally slept together two nights in a row while sleeping together, and yet they still haven't _slept_ together. She marks it down as next on her list of things to accomplish – right after she marries the darn man.

She presses her forehead to the cold of his amulet, twirls her finger lightly around her own. While Emelia loves Lady Mara, she worships all nine Divines, and doesn't wear Mara's amulet for any devout reason. She wears it because he follows her, and she wears it because this is the man she wants to spend the rest of her life with. She wants more nights and days like these, side by side. She's not sure if she'll be able to go back to sleeping alone after these nights together.

She doesn't want to let him go.

When his eyes open, she's watching. She waits, and the look in his eyes tell her what she needs to know; he's had another good night, just as she has, and they melt into each other with their relief. Her hands stay pressed to his chest, and she takes a deep breath. He watches her closely, realizing something is up, something is happening here, and she meets his gaze with resolve. She lets her palms trail down the folds of his hood until they reach his robe, which she takes hold of. Lightly, she tugs him closer, and the look they share leaves no room for misinterpretation. This is it.

Slowly, he lets her pull him in. She lifts her chin and softly presses her lips to his.

She wants so much more. Instead, she leaves it at that and lays back, letting it settle between them. They sit in silence for many long minutes, and she wonders if she's messed things up now.

"Emelia."

She bites her lip before looking back up, batting her eyes at him with a playfulness she doesn't feel. "Casimir."

He visibly starts at the name, and she makes a note to keep using it when they're alone. She likes the effect it has on him, how special it makes her. His face softens, and he just continues to stare at her curiously, and she wonders what he's thinking, watching her so tenderly like that. It's a bit too much on her heart, and she can't help but kiss him again, whether he's ready for it or not.

It takes several seconds, but he slowly kisses back. She revels in the triumph, cuddling closer as their lips move together.

His arms hold her tighter and her hands slip under his robes. She's trying to control herself, trying to move slowly for him, but she's _dying _in the exultation of the moment, drowning in his returned affection, and even he seems to be finding control difficult. When his own hands begin to roam he abruptly pulls free, clearing his throat in a visible effort to contain himself.

"I apologize."

It's always the first thing he says, a reflex, and Emelia laughs.

"Never apologize to me."

"Still-"

"No 'still.'" She smiles, perching herself on her arm.

"We should speak about this, Emelia."

"Isn't that what we're doing?"

He sighs. "We should consult Lady Mara."

It's a step in the right direction, as far as Emelia is concerned. "Then let's do that."

A simple prayer with their amulets is not enough for Erandur, nor is finding a small alter. They arrive at the temple after a few minutes of debate, standing before the statue of their goddess in silent prayer for the second time in three days. She prays, again, for his love. For approval.

He prays much longer than she does, and no matter how restless she feels standing beside him doing nothing, she remains still, waiting. When he finally unclasps his hands, she's been holding herself in check for too long and launches immediately into what she wants; something she's wanted to say for some time, and is excited to finally have out in the open.

"I want to marry you."

He gazes at her. "Emelia..."

"Not much would change considering we already do everything together. It only gets better." She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

"There are certain emotional obligations-"

"I already love you."

His eyes flash up to hers, which are solid and clear. She smiles sincerely.

"I love you. Our goddess would never be against it if you feel the same."

"No, she wouldn't." She feels his fingers touch hers and looks down as he takes her hand in his. "And I do feel the same, Emelia."

He gives her a small smile, and she returns it two-fold. His slips away after a moment.

"I am, however, hesitant. I don't-"

"If you say 'deserve happiness' I will slap you with a Horker." She holds his gaze and he doesn't continue. "If karma decides to come back around and punish you for past crimes then I'll be right there with you to fight it. I will be even if we don't marry. I promise you, Casimir, you will never be alone again, by choice or otherwise. Whether you deserve it or not, I want to make you happy."

His glossy eyes convey his gratitude far better than his terse nod. She nods back.

"I want to marry you."

He smiles again. A real one this time.

"Then we're in the right place."


End file.
